


Agathokakological

by demowrites



Series: Occupational Hazards [2]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Heroes to Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 07:29:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19763434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demowrites/pseuds/demowrites
Summary: A proposal.





	Agathokakological

Somewhere in the silence of rundown warehouses and abandoned slums, Insurgent watched as Charge’s face twitched with the slow, burdening, reemergence of consciousness. 

The suit kept them still, perched on reinforced boots and armored joints as their cape encased their form and hooded their helmet. The only defining feature on the infinite mirror of the mask is a small circle, hollowed by a pale light leaving only a suggestion of a single, round eye staring back.

The person on the inside ground their teeth as Ortega’s eyebrows stitched together in a wince.

_This was not a smart move. Ida had been full of smart moves, playing the role of Insurgent not without hiccups, but with an overall endgame in mind._

Insurgent had torn through Los Diablos feeding on the destruction and suspicion of its own people, but had managed to evade the ever reaching fingertips of the Rangers and the clueless LDPD. Every move had been building in momentum, intention, the fear of their message and their following building just as they had planned.

They hadn’t been caught. They won’t be caught until the time is right.

_**Endgame** , a voice reminded them, chanting it softly as they took a deep breath._

Charge scrunched his face up for a moment, his hands twitching instinctively but found themselves unexpectedly bound and strung just above his head.

That seemed to snap him into the real world real quick.

“Wha-” he tugged at the restraints and turned to find what was haunting his newly found hostage situation. He rolled his eyes in disgust.

“Seriously?” 

“I wanted to talk.” 

His head rolled to the side with all the condescension he could muster through a split lip and the dried blood on the side of his head.

“You can’t just ask like a normal person?”

“I’m not a normal person.” 

_“Seriously--”_

“We don’t have time for this, Charge,” Insurgent cocked their head to the side, their unblinking eye staring down Ortega into defiant silence. “We both know that it won’t take long before the rest of your disaster squad starts hunting you down.”

“We’re a _team_ \--”

“Which is why you went rogue and ended up swallowed in a collapsing building.” Ortega opened his mouth to retort when he seemed to finally catch up.

“You… saved me…?” he breathed, looking incredulous for a moment.

“No… You weren’t going to die, I just saw an opportunity and pulled some rubble off of you.”

_Ida willed that to be true with what they hoped was a believable lie._

“That’s rich,” Ortega scoffed, spitting some debris tainted with blood at the edge of their cape. 

“I haven’t killed anyone.”

“You beat up my team.”

“Only because they attacked me first. I barely touched Herald, he did that to himself. And I pulled Argent up from drowning before I escaped.”

_Ida was grateful for the distorter not translating their annoyance or outrage. The hypocrisy ran deep within this game they were playing, walking the line without fully crossing it. Only dipping their toe in when they needed to make a mark without committing to the true visage of a villain._

_Hiding behind the ideals of anarchy to desperately clutch the remnants of their humanity, the bits and pieces that lingered after the Farm had swallowed them whole._

Silence followed the retort before he reeled back again.

“...You also did quite a number on _me_.” 

_Oh_ , the reluctance in that statement tainted the delivery- bitter more at himself than the person who did it to him. 

_Ida sighed, remembering the damage.The taste of ozone and antiseptic as they kissed his forehead, the blooming bruise across his chest, the small stitched cut that interrupted the precarious influence of his already ambiguous mustache._

_The feeling of his hand squeezing back._

“I didn’t want to do that,” Insurgent stated, still staring down Charge with their hollowed persona while the Rat King hummed pleasantly in the background letting them know that nobody had caught up to them yet. “But you fight like an impulsive idiot. I had to respond in kind.”

Ortega actually spat out a laugh at that, almost shrugging his shoulders before wincing. 

“You still blew up a building--”

“Nobody died.” Insurgent stood now, their cape swallowing their extended form, giving them the appearance that they hovered, ruined only by the armored boots with height extenders that greeted Ortega’s eye line.

“You don’t really seem to be a good villain, you know that right?” His head leaned into one of his raised arms, feinting exhaustion to hide his intrigue.

_Of course he was intrigued. Ida rolled their eyes, hyper aware of his pension for danger._

_Idiot._

“I have a proposition for you.” 

The look on his face in that moment was priceless, even behind the blood and dust.

“Is this a confession? Because that whole trope where they ‘they’re mean to you because they like you’ is just--”

“We have a common interest,” Insurgent looked down on them, eerily still. 

“Well, do tell,” he coughed, wincing again. They fought the urge to move, maintaining their persona.

“I did some digging on you. It seems you’ve gotten into quite a few spats with the Mayor over Hollow Ground.” He blinked at that, the whirs in his brain now visible on his face.

He wasn’t expecting that.

“Oh?”

“While you may call me a villain, I am not evil--I am not acting without a purpose. While I knew I was starting to scare a few politicians, it seems I have ruffled the feathers of another.”

_His eyebrows shot up but to Ida’s surprise, he didn’t interject. A rare moment of caution._

“You and I both know that Hollow Ground is rooted in every major corporation and political figure in Los Diablos-- probably even in most of the remnants of California at this point.” 

“And you want… what from me?” His eyes were sharp, even if he kept the aloofness in his body and language.

“A temporary truce in favor of bringing down something bigger.”

_Ida waited for the comeback, the snarky, flirtatious response that is so typically Ortega, but to their surprise nothing came. Their banter had often resorted in him getting the last word, a victorious smirk flirting with the boundaries of Ida’s frustration and embarrassment. Silence was deafening from him._

He looked up at their helmet with frowning, guarded eyes.

“Are you... _delusional_ enough to think of yourself as a hero?” he asks seriously, staring Insurgent down.

“No, I am no hero.” 

_The deadpan of the distorter was in sync with Ida’s own voice for once._

“Then why are you doing this?” he asked, voice more incredulous than accusing. “You gave me your pitch at the museum, but really… why?”

_Ida thought about this moment, wondering what they would say to convince Ortega to cooperate, and what would be believable. But he was, despite all his years of service that hardened him with scars and the grey hairs creeping in on his temples, a sentimental creature._

Insurgent knelt down in front of Charge again, close, but not close enough for him to try anything. He shockingly behaved himself for the moment.

“None of this is about you.” He scoffed a little, but said nothing else. “I have seen things that you can’t even imagine, hiding under the guise of the government’s control. There are things in this world that can’t be forgiven, and things that I refuse to be a part of. Not anymore."

"You _know_ ,” the distorter ruining a murmur into a statement. “You _know_ that there is something wrong. What happened to Hood… it was all wrong.”

“Who do you think played a role in that? When he started speaking his mind, when he started fighting the wrong fight?”

_Ortega maintained a good poker face, which was surprising in of itself. But Ida knew better. They could see the ripples in his surface, the clench of his jaw, the way he held his breath._

_He was angry. He was thinking._

_He was uncertain._

“You don’t have to answer me now,” Insurgent cocked their head to the side again, their only eye staring at Charge with unblinking certainty. 

“Aren’t you at least going to leave me your number?” His usual flirtatious deflection marred by the burn of his own insecurity.

“No,” Insurgent chuckled, their voice breaking the sound into something more malicious. “I will find you again. You can tell me your answer then.” They stood, always watching Charge with the mirrored mask that made him more uncomfortable than he would ever voice. 

_How hard was it to see himself reflected back in that moment?_

“Are you really just going to leave me here? It’s not a very good first impression for your proposed alliance,” he toyed, eyes narrowed, still hunting for something more. 

Insurgent paused, their cape sweeping around them in attempt to usher them forward. Though they didn’t respond, a gloved hand seemed to pick something up out of the limited sight of Charge, turning back to their temporary hostage once again.

The tension was apparent, the small sparks at the end of his fingertips as they approached again and the forced effort which kept his lips pulled in a lopsided smirk. Nostalgia overwhelmed them for a brief moment, leaving them grateful for the mask yet again.

They approached carefully, the Rat King now aware of the approaching void of Steel’s armor. A small piece of broken glass appeared between their fingertips, flashing before Charge intentionally before slipping the piece between his tied fingertips.

“Think about what you want to accomplish, Charge,” they leaned forward, still and haunting as his own face stared back at him. “Real heroes aren’t bought and paid for.”

“I feel a ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ speech coming on.” 

“No,” they pulled back, the cape swallowing them whole again as they began their retreat. “Just make a decision of your own. Stop being a pawn… that’s a good start.”

Charge couldn’t find the words. 

_______________________________________________________________________________

Ida sat across from him, their eyes searching for an explanation that wasn’t going to surface. The lines in his face, carefully carved from well placed smiles and the less featured contemplative frown were tucked away. His face, on this auspicious Wednesday, was blank.

It was haunting.

“Okay,” they sighed, placing their cup down on the table in front of them, staring their counterpart down with an intensity that seemed to momentarily snap him out of his reverie.

“What is happening to you?” The sound of Hoots hummed pleasantly behind them, masking the accusation in their tone. 

A single eyebrow challenged them.

“What do you mean?” 

“Seriously?” they asked, both hands on the table, eyes accusing and worried.

_The slight tension in their mouth, their eyes wandering across his face left him exposed for a moment. One of their redeeming qualities, which pulled Ortega into this madness in the first place, was their ability to call him out._

_Even in the privacy of his own chaos, he liked it. Just a little._

“Ever since that bizarre fight in the old warehouse district, you’ve been off,” head tilted to the side, eyes softening ever so slightly. “You… are you okay?” 

Hesitant fingers found his own, his heart clenching ever so slightly.

_It was so easy for them. It was so easy to reach into the parts of him that he buried and make them twist and burn in a way that was painful, but kept him coming back for more. Every time._

_They didn’t even have to do much at this point. He was such a goner._

He laced his fingers with theirs, giving it a small squeeze, exhaling with the ounce of relief that found his way to him again.

“It’s nothing really… I’ve just been thinking too much.”

“A dangerous idea, really.”


End file.
